CHAPTER XX. PEACE AT LAST!
Mr. Skinner entered Cappy Ricks' office bearing an envelope marked “Photo. Do not crush or bend!” From the announcement in the upper right-hand corner the general manager deduced that the photograph was from Matt Peasley.
“Well, here's Captain Peasley's picture, Mr. Ricks,” he announced.
“Ah! Splendid. Prompt, isn't he?” Cappy tore open the envelope, drew forth the photograph, scrutinized it carefully and then laid it face down on his desk, while he got out his spectacles, cleaned them carefully, adjusted them and gazed at the photograph once more.
“Ahem! Hu-m-m-m! Harump-h-h-h! Well, Skinner, life is certainly full of glad surprises,” he announced presently, and added—“particularly where that man Peasley is concerned. I never did see the beat of that fellow.”
“May I see his photograph, sir?” Mr. Skinner pleaded.
“Certainly,” and Cappy passed it to the general manager, who glanced once at it and smiled down whimsically at Cappy.
“Yes, I agree with you, Mr. Ricks,” he said. “Of all the surprises that man Peasley has handed us, this is the greatest.”
Cappy nodded and smiled a little prescient smile. “Skinner,” he said, “send in a stenographer. I'm going to send him a telegram.”
He did. Matt Peasley blinked when he got it, and for the first time since he had commenced exchanging telegrams and cablegrams with the peculiar Mr. Ricks he was thoroughly non-plussed—so much so, in fact, that he called his right bower, Michael J. Murphy, into consultation.